


Cauterised

by deathwailart



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Female Character of Color, Gen, Male Character of Color, Mild Gore, On the Run, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-10 15:38:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2030595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathwailart/pseuds/deathwailart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're running from Ostagar, Luce's hurt and they don't have any poultices.</p>
<p>Written for the 30 day drabble challenge: cauterised</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cauterised

They're running. They're running and it hurts to breathe and she's sure she's going to be sick but there isn't time for that. It's not far from Ostagar to Lothering and that was a consolation when they marched off, bidding goodbye to mother and to Bethany because it's always been the Hawkes together against the world, that little band of five now four and it's not as if mother and Bethany can't look after themselves but it was always Malcolm's job and then Luce's. But the army is steady pay and they both want to fight and it's the right thing to do.  
  
It's Darkspawn, the Blight, Magisters and blood magic. Father wouldn't have wanted them to sit idle.  
  
Luce isn't really one for royalty but she's been over too much of Ferelden already but by the time the twins came along, trying to travel was too impractical and so Lothering it was and Carver is so desperate to belong somewhere. She can't let him go off alone and it's exciting in a different way to Blackstone Irregulars work which, by the very name, has been somewhat irregular of late. Luce doesn't have romantic views of war but she never expected the chaos of what happened, the beacon that never lit, the hopelessness as she slipped through the rest as they started to panic when they realised no one was coming. The panic that seized her when she realised she had to find Carver and then there he was, bloodied from head to toe after beheading the hurlock lumbering her way.  
  
Desertion doesn't matter when the battle is already lost and she has a family to look after.  
  
It's only when they're running that she realises her thigh is bleeding and they have to stop because the pain is starting to overwhelm everything else. Her muscles are burning, her lungs are screaming and she doesn't know how she's actually managing to keep going but then she has to clatter to a stop and clutch at her thigh. They should have enough of a lead if she's honest when there are so many at Ostagar for the Darkspawn to content themselves with, it's an awful thought but they've got enough time to just stop and breathe and it's getting dark. They both know this road well but she imagines trying to run blind and shudders. So Carver stops and gets an arm around her as she winches and they find somewhere at least a little sheltered to sit at. Where she can finally look down at her leg and curse because that's a hell of a gash running up her thigh and there's sticky blood still oozing sluggishly from the wound.  
  
Carver looks so young when he kneels in front of her to examine it – she would be embarrassed, him too probably, little brother prodding at his sister's thigh but there's no time for any of that right now.  
  
"Looks clean sister, you're lucky." He's relieved, she can tell in the way his shoulders relax.  
  
"You're sure?"  
  
"Sure as I can be in this light but that's going to get infected or the smell's going to attract something, wild animals and..." He trails off because she knows damn well that the Darkspawn will be drawn to them. "We need to risk a fire. Unless you've got any poultices?"  
  
"I wasn't the one in charge of them." She neglects to tell Carver that she gave him her last one on the battle field, pretending she just found it, pressing it into his hand because he's her baby brother and she needs to make sure he's going to be okay. Realisation dawns and she wants to be sick even as she fumbles one of her blades, the one that's broader, and hands it to him. "Don't boil the water, it won't be long until we get home, Bethany knows enough to fix whatever we can't."  
  
"Right," he mutters quickly, "right," he repeats because what else is there to do.  
  
She's quiet when he starts to build the fire, her hound who is so alert for any danger pressing close to her and she murmurs nonsense to him, pets his fur and tries not to whimper when Carver rips part of his undershirt – it's sweaty but at least it's not bloody – to bathe in water from his canteen. He can't really be gentle because now that she's not running the pain is lancing up and down her leg, it's only going to hurt more after this but they're almost home, almost, almost back to mother and Bethany and Bethany's soft healing hands, so she bites her bottom lip and lets him wipe away as much as he can, throwing the rag into the fire where it sparks and burns. Her blade looks wrong in his hand. It looks almost comically small and he can't grip it right but he holds it in the flames and she reaches for the strap of her pack, folds it double and bites down.  
  
The pain is indescribable and she sobs, the strap doing a little to muffle it as her hound goes rigid at her distress and Carver's eyes are so wide as she kicks her other leg in a futile attempt to do _something_. She must black out for a while because then the fire is gone – they can't risk it, not for long – and he's holding her, petting her hair and saying sorry over and over. She keeps hold of him, pats his back and rubs his shoulders and weakly murmurs nonsense.  
  
In no time at all, they're running again even when every step sends needles of agony through her and she has to keep hold of Carver and her faithful mabari to keep going.


End file.
